This and That
by cubsmug45
Summary: Renee winds down after Day 7. It's going to take a lot of wine. Jack understands all too well.
1. Dishes

9:01 p.m.

Dishes.

The dishes she could handle. This? Signing the transcript of her debrief on the events surrounding Marika's death and verifying that death report? Too taxing. It still upset her. Not quite in the same way as it had over 24 hours ago, but it still hurt. It wasn't Jack's fault. It wasn't Renee's fault. It wasn't even really the fault of her job. Necessary? She wasn't willing to go that far.

But sometimes blame is complicated—and _unnecessary_. Marika was dead, thousands upon thousands of Americans _weren't_. Maybe that's all she needs to know. She signs the document with a simultaneous sigh and throws the papers on the couch, standing to face the kitchen. _Bring on the dishes._

She's really not a neat freak. Structured? Yes. Orderly? Has to be. But neat? Normally she could care less. That is, until a long day at work requires that she find a release. Then neatness is like a therapy. And if there was ever a day for therapy, this would be it. Not like Janice needs therapy. Renee could deal with the psychological consequences of her hellish day, she just requires a release. What was left in the casserole dish she made last weekend for Sunday brunch with her parents now felt the brunt of that need.

A few minutes later she paused after turning the water off. The dishes were washed, now on a rack waiting to be dried. Another sigh crept out. She put her palms on the edge of the sink and leaned against it for support—a moment of rest.

She had gotten a good amount of sleep that afternoon. She hadn't missed a beat when she walked into her apartment—hang up the coat, keys on the end table, grab a water from the fridge, turn on the shower as hot as possible, step in, wash, rinse, grab robe, sweat pants, t-shirt, bed. Next thing she knew it was 8 p.m.

At that point she felt ambitious, so she opened her e-mail and took the faxes from the printer. That's when Marika's file surfaced. _Might as well_, Renee thought to herself. In the interest of remaining objective while working, she pushed back the thoughts of Jack as she flipped through the mounds of paperwork covered in his name.

She wasn't sure where _that _was going. _That_, of course, being her and Jack. But not them as a couple… they weren't one. Were they? Ha! So much for objectivity. That distraction was another reason she decided to take up the dish washing.

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8:54 a.m.

"Thank you Madame President… I'll stay out of your way… I would enjoy that, M'am, but I just want to lay low for now… don't thank me. I appreciate your help…"

She was being nosy, but when Janice called Renee's cell to tell her the President wished to speak with Jack, her interest peaked. And for Renee, curiosity always killed the cat. Larry always joked he was going to sew it on a pillow for her. They had been happy. But mostly professional, even in their private life. Her professionalism had been slightly breeched in favor of more, say, _unorthodox_ measures today. Larry didn't approve of most of her choices, but she (and by she, we really mean Jack) delivered results—results that made it impossible to fire her as an agent. Still, Renee couldn't help but regret that their final hours together were full of her shutting him out. She had to remind herself that neither her efforts nor his death were in vain.

She and Jack were now in the field, final battle fought. Just the two of them. And, you know, about 300 other agents, policemen, firemen, medical personnel, spectators, noise. But chemistry told her it was just them, so why wouldn't she eavesdrop on his call? She stared out over all the commotion as she tried to act oblivious to the fact that he was closing the distance between them, extending his arm to hand her phone back as he did. He squinted a little as he looked her in the eye and then off into the same distance that occupied her sight during his phone conversation.

"The President has personally, formally cancelled the Senate proceedings on my case."

"Can she do that?"

He looked back over to her. Of course Renee would bring up practicality. She was kicking herself for it, too.

"No. But she's got sway over the people who can."

"That's great news, Jack."

He let out one of his deep "yeahs" under a sigh. You know, one of those with an "I guess" tone. A few minutes earlier he had taken another anti-seizure shot, but his breathing was continuously heavy.

Renee mirrored his sigh and began a good fifteen-minute period of silence between them. Okay, it was 15 seconds. But it felt so much longer. Probably had something to do with that stupid chemistry. She realized during this time that, while he was probably close to being nice and ending the silence, he wasn't going to bring up what she would like to hear. Something like, "So you want to get coffee" or "I'm not ready to say goodbye" would be preferable. But so, so unlikely. His response to the 15 seconds of silence would be more along the lines of "well, I've got to get going" or "I should head to the office and be debriefed." She was shocked, embarrassed, and so caught off guard when, just for a second, her thoughts jumped to how she would like to debrief him in an entirely different way.

She laughed at herself. Slightly audibly. Enough to get Jack looking back at her, and enough to calm her nerves to where she could take a little initiative.

"So I want nothing more than sleep right now, but there is no way that is going to happen without some food first… want to grab some…" She had to think for a second… "what time is it even?" she let out with a small laugh and a little nervousness. She wasn't even sure what mealtime they were around. "…breakfast?" She worked really hard at a smile that didn't look desperate or too happy considering the weight of the day from which they were emerging.

"I'd like that" he said with a hint of a nod. "But I really need to get to Kim."

Jack had agreed when Kim left earlier that he would finish up the investigation and that after he saved the world once more he would join her at the hospital. They hadn't gotten a lot of time to catch up during their time, given that he was, as previously mentioned, in the process of saving the world. But he had done his best to make it clear to Kim that wanting to do so really was second to his desire to know her again. It was a balance issue of the past that he clearly still struggled with. Renee did see him struggling with it, though. And to see him doing so only furthered her conviction that she had judged him too soon. If anything, he was all _too_ human.

She knew it and he knew it. And it's why he was more hesitant than ever to let anyone, much less a love interest, in. For Christ's sake, he was a grandfather! That news truly baffled him. Angela was close to a grandchild, but with her it still felt like Kim was just nannying full time. Teri is _his_ granddaughter. It seems a bit Norman Rockwell for a man who spent 2 years completely silent whilst being tortured by the Chinese government … for a man who has seen _everything._ It still seemed though, for man also looking to start over, a good place to start. He had tried miserably without Kim. He made sure she was safe before he left the country 2 years ago, but vowed not to reenter her life and bring more pain than necessary. In that time he could only hope that she was on a path towards being happy. Tonight he was relieved to find that she was—but that she really wanted him to be, too.

"Oh yeah, of course you do" Renee agreed. She felt ridiculous. _Hello? The man is dying of a biological pathogen and you just asked him out on a date._

"Another time?" He looked in her eyes the whole time he said it.

She had completely forgotten about his, um, condition when she offered the invitation. He asked despite remembering the grave diagnosis. She hadn't seen him operate with that much hope all day.

Another small smile came across her face. "Sure." Another pause commenced. It was not 15 minutes this time. "You have my number."

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9:12 p.m.

Yeah, see. No idea where _that_ is going.

Not even an update on the treatment plan.

She came out of remembering their last encounter, stood straight and grabbed a drying towel. The pouring rain was a soothing sound, but a little too quiet and reflective for Renee. She chose a random playlist on her iHome and returned to the countertop.

She heard a knock as she put away the last bowl. Immediately moving towards the door, towel in hand, Renee unchained and unlatched it.

There he was. There _that_ was. That_ something_ between the two of them.

Her first thought was that she wished "Dancing in the Moonlight" wasn't filling her apartment at the moment.

She sort of stumbled to a "hey."

"Hi… sorry I didn't call… I was just…" he sighed

She responded playfully skeptical. "In the neighborhood?"

His head was bowed and he nodded, admitting he was caught. Of course he hadn't just happened upon her building.

He looked up. "I figured you got some sleep this afternoon, but the exhaustion wares off... the memories start coming back, haunting you if you let them… The day after is the hardest part."

This time she bowed her head, acknowledging that she was beginning to find these things out.

He, of course, was not immune to this truth. To this pain.

"But," a smile she had rarely seen in the past 36 some odd hours came across his face. "It's nothing a little wine and company… if you want… can't help." He gestured to the bottle of wine in his right hand and used the left to put a hand through his damp hair. She looked to the wine then back up to him.

"You're wrong."

His face fell ever so slightly. "It's going to take a lot of wine," offering a smirk as she opened the door further. "Come in."

"Thanks."

"Are you kidding? You come in the name of red wine, it is my pleasure." She passed him in the front hallway to lead him to the kitchen.

"Nice place."

It is pretty much a loft apartment, with a small bar in between the kitchen and the den, the bedroom separated by a wall but no door.

"Well, it's close to work and affordable, so…" She grabbed the glasses.

"It's neat."

"Yeah, well it's basically one room. So I cook in the living room, entertain guests in the bedroom and end up sleeping in the kitchen— messy just wouldn't work too well."

"I see." He struggled to pop the cork and the two laughed in anticipation. When it gave, Jack sighed. They both knew, though neither acknowledged, that the simple task had taken too much effort on his part. It was a small but painful reminder of his unsure fate. Unsure more so to her than to him since "here's what happened at the hospital this afternoon" aren't usually the first words out of a man's mouth when he comes to your apartment with wine. Then again, not a whole lot about them or their short history was usual.

"there" he let out, exasperated. Jack poured the two glasses and handed one to Renee.

"Thanks."

They waited, glasses sort of hoisted, for someone to toast.

"To the day after" she offered.

He let out a sigh with a smile. "I'll definitely drink to that."

She didn't even know if he was supposed to be drinking. But frankly, at this point, she really didn't care. She was forever done with trying to be Jack Bauer's mom. Though it did cross her mind to one day remember to offer her sympathy to the woman who did have that job, wherever she was.

They both took a sip. As Renee lowered her glass she broke the subtle silence with a weak "that's really good." But really, when she raised her glance to meet his eyes she knew words weren't really going to be appropriate much longer. She and Jack had danced around this enough, already. Their gazes were locked on each other.

So she leaned in and kissed him. Pretty tentatively at first. When he didn't really respond she deepened it, leaving him no choice but to kiss back. He held her head with his wine free hand and they continued. …for 15 minutes. Okay again only 15 seconds, but it again felt longer. And she _wanted_ it to be longer, so she moved to put her glass down on the counter. The movement caused Jack to pull back from the kiss. He stayed so close that his forehead nearly met hers. She held her breath.

"This isn't a good idea," he protested carefully, trying to convey that he had her best interest in mind. She just stared back at him. "You've read my file, but you only know a fraction of what I've done, and you can't want…" The images of every shocking, terrifying and painful thing he had ever been through— worst yet, what he put people through— flashed in his mind.

She interrupted, "that's exactly why this could work."

He continued to look in her eyes, unconvinced. She tried again.

"And, you're Jack Bauer. Since when has a good idea been the best option?"

He laughed and glanced away, staring out of the window at the rain. They both let a few moments pass before looking back at each other.

"Think you've got me figured out, don't you?" he inquired, voice low and raspy.

"Not at all," she replied wryly. They stood there, as if she was challenging him to make the next move.

"Okay."

He set his glass down next to hers intently. Leaning in slowly, he cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her surely, though he was still not entirely sure about all of_ this_.


	2. Past

12:45 a.m.

He's not one to make a habit of dwelling in the past. And when you have a past like Jack Bauer's, who _would_ want to go there? Most everyone who_ had_ made a point to be in his life are in the past precisely because they made _that_ mistake – being in his life, that is. And while he would love to have them around now-- in some cases to hold tighter and love deeper, in others to simply treat better and know more purposefully—they are victims of his past. Victims of his life. He hates thinking about them _that_ way because it is chilling to come to and dwell in the realization that the only reason these people—close people that he should've been closer to—are past tense is because they chose to be near him. How the hell, then, is _he_ still alive? And why?

He can deal with the burden of killing hundreds of bad guys, even those guys who weren't necessarily bad people they were just defiant at an inopportune time. Of course, we use "guys" loosely because you all remember _her._ He had even learned to write off the deaths of good guys as being necessary to achieve a greater purpose. That belief, he understood, was pushing it. Pushing _that_ moral line, which he's not entirely sure when exactly he crossed. "Must've been_ sometime_ during one of those days I saved the world," he thought smugly and cynically. He didn't usually give himself that much credit. Mainly because good people have died helping him achieve that end. Losing those people is what hurts. The closer they are, the harder it is to lose them (the credit he's giving himself could also have something to do with the whole dying thing he's got going on for himself).

She brought up Teri. As he justified one more death of a "good guy," Renee likened her to Teri. The difference is that close factor. Marika wasn't the mother of his children. Marika hadn't died at the hands of his most trusted colleague. He had very little invested in Marika. To answer the question, though, the one about if Teri's death was necessary, if he were being honest… in a way… yes. It taught him that the less he had invested in a person, the easier it would be to lose them.

He had gotten over that glass half empty worldview. Jack took his son-in-laws lead and headed to a perfectly respectable, still high-energy job. And he met the woman who taught him to love again. It sounds incredibly sappy, he knows that. But he wants to give Audrey due credit. He cannot be with her again—he has asked too much and put her through too much risk. Even where she might disagree, he could not live with himself if something else were to happen to someone _that_ close—someone whom he loved enough to let go.

Those are the hardest to lose. The ones written off to the past who are still alive, just not in his life. Mostly just Audrey and Kim. Audrey he can completely distance himself from, for her sake. Kim, though? She's his daughter. She has always been and will forever be the most important person in his life. It terrifies him to think of her dying for simply being his daughter. So for a long time, he's let her stay in the past. Undisturbed and unharmed. Physically, at least. But as much as he wants to let her go and for her to be happy, she is still his. To have to walk away, even if for her benefit, hurts. It makes her a living victim of his past—and those, as previously noted, are the hardest to lose. This is what he told her, in fewer words, at the hospital today… technically yesterday at this point. She told him she was sick of being that victim. The one that didn't have a choice but to be bitter and upset because Jack was trying to spare himself some pain. She understood it, of course. Understood that he was protecting her life. But being alive and being happy are two different things. She learned to be both without him, to a degree. But she was still his, and it sucks being an orphan when you dad is still alive. Worse yet, it sucks being an orphan when your dad chooses to die—the path Jack was well on his way down when she finally found him last night. They reached an agreement as they waited at the hospital in between test results— dying having been happy kicks being alive and miserable's ass.

He hates that they are gone—both Teri and Audrey. There are no ways around that. No justifications. He learned not to invest in people after Teri died mainly because he had no closure. He didn't have that second chance she told him about _that_ night. The suddenness haunted him. He learned to love again (he begs your pardon for being cheesy again) and he felt her loss badly. But he got closer to closure that time. Painful, yes. But not as sudden and she wasn't dead. The doctors were very optimistic about Audrey's recovery, and he wanted her healing to include the wounds he had inflicted. He hates that they are gone and he isn't in love with his current life. But if he's honest about who he is today and where he has been, their deaths (used loosely in Audrey's case) have been necessary to make him the Jack Bauer that he must come to terms with being today.

He is who he is. He can be sorry for some things and he regrets a lot. But he can't apologize for being human. That is, after all, what his past says about him. There is no escaping _that._ As Renee's head lays on his chest in her apartment he succumbs to the knowledge that there is no escaping _this_, either. To try and be miserable does a disservice to the loves of his life that he has lost. It jeopardizes his opportunity to be a dad to Kim again. It requires him to forfeit another chance at love. Avoiding love is one sure way to stay miserable. And he doesn't want _that_.


	3. Sick

5:56 a.m.

He went back to sleep for a few hours and woke up with the first rays of daylight streaming in through the large window in Renee's room. When he was falling back asleep at 2 a.m., he had been so determined that this was supposed to happen. Somehow, though, the morning was now both literally and figuratively shedding light on the situation.

Sure, avoiding love is a stupid reason to be miserable. But there is something keeping Jack miserable that he has no control over. He had weighed the pros and cons of coming to Renee's apartment earlier the previous evening. He wasn't feeling his best. And by "feel his best" he means he doesn't really know how much time he has left. Could be a few weeks, a few months, a few years. Physically, he's becoming more and more miserable. Why not just let his personal life remain in that state?

The answer has a lot to do with the smell of her hair. Somehow being in the middle of a national crisis doesn't quite lend itself to the observation of these little details. But now he's still just lying here, taking in everything he could not allow himself to be aware of or distracted by in the middle of the action over the past couple of days. She is sleeping with her arms curled in front of her chest, facing him—slightly leaning into his chest. Her breathing is steady and rhythmic, his a bit more strained. She has freckles, he has wrinkles. She has a shirt on, he does not. Her hand, while not delicate, is smooth, his incredibly calloused. She's healthy, he's not. That's the one that most concerns him.

All he knows is that he feels like crap but this is helping. When you put it like that, it sounds incredibly selfish of him to be here. Still, Renee knows the situation and clearly has no problems with his presence, so he has decided to do what he can to treat the misery himself. That means pursuing this relationship for however long he can. More immediately, it means he's going to need some breakfast. He slowly raises himself from the mattress, realizing in that moment how sore he really is. As he moves he gently guides Renee onto her stomach. She subconsciously situates herself, readjusting her head on the pillow. When she does, a piece of hair falls over her face and covers her features. He's not sure it's his place, but after he stands, Jack reaches to tuck that hair behind her ear. In her slumber, a small smile creeps across her face. While he appreciates the way the sunlight is finding the perfect way to highlight the red in her hair, Jack knows that the brightening morning will eventually irritate her out of her precious sleep. He takes the liberty of closing the blinds on his way out of the room.

He's not trying to be nosy. But when he takes the couple of steps down into the living room, the bookshelf on his right catches his glance. There are books he knows must be left over from college—Introduction to Psychology, The Uncivil Wars: the American 1960's, Heart of Darkness, Biological Concepts. There are big picture books of Nelson Mandela and John F. Kennedy and a collection of Time magazines. There are also photo albums, but he knows he has to leave those alone—at least if he wants to stick to the whole "I wasn't trying to be nosy" story. There are, however, a few framed pictures that are on display for him to analyze guilt free. There's a picture of Renee and Larry in a silver frame that he assumes is from a couple of years ago. This is not a far off guess considering their nine year history. They're dressed up, he in a typical black suit, she in a black dress, smiling. Larry's arm is around her but something still seems so official about them. Jack certainly isn't going to write off what must have been between the two of them as insignificant, but from what he has seen in Renee over the past 48 hours, official just doesn't seem her type. At least not when it comes to her private relationships. His theory seems to be confirmed by a different picture, this one in a wood frame, at Renee's high school graduation. She's beaming as her family creates a group hug around her, with her dad proudly displaying her diploma and her brother posing as if he's stealing her cap. Jack smiles to himself upon realizing that he just spent the night with a woman who still proudly regards these normal moments. I mean, she's obviously got a kick to her but she also has this sense of normalcy that has sorely been lacking from his life and the lives of the people close to him for years. She escaped early adulthood rather unscathed and lives to display that evidence in a well-kept, cute apartment.

There's another picture of the family on the shelf that makes Jack think he may have spoken too soon. She and her parents are gathered around a hospital bed where the man he assumes to be her brother is donning a goofy hat and holding a fork loaded with birthday cake up to his mouth. She is blowing a party instrument as her dad holds up a gift and her mom holds on to her son's hand. The picture is similar to the graduation photo in its exuberance, though the smiles here are a little more worn. Whereas in the first picture her brother seems the stereotypical muscular, built, protective older type, in the second he looks frail with a shaved head, his cheer coming mostly from the presence and support of the people around him. He may be the same jokester as before, but his energy looks shot. Renee looks as if she's trying to maintain it for him, and she's doing a convincing job.

Jack realizes he's within sight of where he left Renee in the bed a few minutes before and suddenly feels guilty for invading her privacy and her past. He is welcome in her apartment and he wants to know more about her, but he knows information like what is going on in that picture or what history there is between her and Larry should come from her, not from his own analysis of her personal things. He makes the short walk to the kitchen where a picture on the fridge captures his attention. It's at some sort of special event, obviously personal like a wedding, where Renee and her parents stand in a shoulder to shoulder embrace. They're dressed in pastels with smiles on, but there is an obvious change in mood between the shelf pictures and this one. It could just be that her brother was gone, unable to make it, just not in this picture. But the sinking in his stomach as well as what he knows about Renee thus far leads him to the understanding that her brother is _gone._

She still has this good life and the good she knows still far outweighs the bad, but Renee is not unfamiliar with the sadness. She knows personal hurt and she is not disenchanted with life. It can't be easy for her then, to be coming to this realization that her job isn't everything she thought it was. Larry is dead and she has encountered plenty of professional hurt over the past couple of days. His words must have stung her to the core—"you'll learn to live with it."

"But what if I don't want to live with it?"

"Then quit."

When he said them he hadn't taken into consideration that she might be right. That maybe there was a way to have a home full of memories, scarring as some may be, as well as a job that requires a person to take lives. His own experience told him it was impossible. Meeting Jack told Renee exactly how much some people end up giving for the job. But Renee's experience gave Jack hope that maybe there was a way to reconcile the two.

A shake came over him at that moment, leading to a struggle for breath that instinctively drove him to find his jacket with the anti-seizure medication. He rested himself against the couch as this episode served as a reminder of his situation. He couldn't help but think what an extremely unlikely time this was to finally be getting the balance he was learning about from Renee for his own life.

But maybe _this_ is what dying is like—finally getting all the pieces, putting them together and learning to really live with it.


	4. Dance

6:15 a.m.

Okay, really. Eggs? She definitely smelt eggs. A cough. She definitely heard a cough. Oh my God,_ his_ cough. He was still there. I mean, of course he was. He didn't come across as the type to bail, but to think that and to know that are two very different things. For Renee it is a delightful difference. There are 30,000 things going through her mind in this moment, the first of which being that she is so glad she rearranged her room a few weeks ago so that her bed is not facing the kitchen anymore. Because she's going to need a few minutes to process _this_ before she sees him again.

Speaking of _seeing him_, what even happened last night? Thinking this hard alerts Renee to the headache she'd developed overnight, but she doesn't want to stir for an Advil because when she steps foot on the wood floor, she wants to know exactly what went down in her apartment the night before. She would love to know what all it means, too, but that may be asking a little too much. So she'll settle for simply remembering.

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9:15 p.m.

He was kissing her, and he was doing so passionately. But she could also feel the reservation. She honestly feared more than anything that he would come to regret this. Not that he would leave now or say he just can't. She fears him staying and that he'll take it back later. As if Jack Bauer isn't unpredictable enough already, there is an added risk because he truly doesn't know how much time he has left. And he would have every right to decide that this is not something he wants to take on in the end.

The first dose of Kim's cells were helping. Which is a good thing because within the first few hours of his diagnosis, Jack was on the fast track to death. Dymensia and paralysis weren't taking their time delivering him to that final destination. She was surprised at how much she cared. Not just as a human being, but as someone who all of the sudden had a lot to lose with Jack Bauer. It was a dangerous place to be, she knew. And he knew it too. It's why he could hardly look at her after he concurred with Larry's decision that he should sit out. His faint attempt at humor, "I always knew we would agree about something," was more heartbreaking than comic relief. He walked away and took off his jacket, making it painfully obvious that he was having to _consciously_ not look her in the eye. Probably a good thing, too, since it was all she could do to hold back her own tears—tears that she hadn't controlled when Larry first told her about Jack's exposure to the weapon and tears she knew would make their way back out if Jack chose to bring her into this moment of defeat with him. After Jack started convulsing, it was Renee who desperately asked Sunny if there was _anything _they could do to help Jack. If not to heal him, then to delay this process. If not to delay the process then to make it less painful. She was probably asking just as much for herself as she was for Jack's sake. It frightened her that his interest was becoming so closely intertwined with hers. It was the look in her eyes as she pleaded with Sunny to do _something _that triggered an idea in the CDC higher up. Did he have any living relatives nearby? Renee knew his file, that he has a daughter married to a private security contractor living in L.A. There was a mad dash to access their information and it was Renee who made the call to Kim—the call that saved Jack's life. In more ways than one, as far as he is concerned.

But he's still sick. She still feels now how she felt when he first got to the FBI building after being exposed—she has something to lose here. It's scary. It's why she knows there is still a hesitation behind the passion in his kiss and her embrace. At the same time, it _is_ pretty flattering that, in this moment, he is choosing to be here. With her. She really doesn't want him to regret it. Because while she could lose it, at least she has this _something_. And as far as she is concerned, _this_ is worth it.

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6:18 a.m.

Yeah, she remembers her thought process last night. Thinking back on it, it still makes a lot of sense. On top of that, the fear she had that he might regret all if this is quelled by the fact that he is now making eggs in her kitchen and not halfway to L.A., determined that he can't do this because there are only a precious few relationships he has time to consider. Well, that part is true, he does only have time for a precious few. Despite the very dire circumstances, it makes her feel a bit like a schoolgirl to realize that he considers her among those relationships worth investing in now. So, initial freak out—the one over the big picture, the "is this a good idea" question—subsided, she is able to remember clearly what went down the night before. It makes her want to run to kitchen to see him, rather than continue to avoid him like she's been doing for a long couple of minutes now. But for clarity's sake, she'll conduct a quick review…

The hesitation got the best of them after, say, 15 minutes. Which was fine because that's really all she had hoped for, remember? By that point she was leaned up against the cabinet with his arms firmly placed on the countertop, locking them in. Her arms were resting gently around his back as he leaned into her. There was something so intimate about that fact that his hands weren't all over her. They weren't on her face pulling her into the kiss nor were they keeping her away. She had the choice at any moment to put her hands between them and back this up. He kept his hands from being a barrier or a pull by leaning more into the countertop with the weight on his arms than into her. It was a confident but unassuming position—an extremely vulnerable one on his part. In such vulnerability, the occasions when he would put a hand up to her cheek or brush past her hip were that much more stimulating. Their hearts raced as they continued this tradition of giving each other more and more to lose. When Jack though about it in those terms, he slowly pulled back. Not abruptly, like earlier when it was a hesitation to be here at all. This time it was out of a hesitation to go there too quickly. Not _there_ as in sex, that's not the issue. _There_, where happily ever after begins to become the expectation—something he's clearly not in the position to offer. One hand came off the counter and onto her upper back. The other hand reached first for her glass, then for his. He handed a glass to her. When he picked his glass up, the free hand ran down her back, to her hip, skipped to her elbow, down her arm and interlocked with her fingers.

"Come on." He said it in the deepest whisper he possibly could.

She was game. For whatever. Because even though he had broken the kiss, she sensed this time around that he wanted to stay. The physical intimacy didn't have to immediately manifest itself into _that_ in order to be significant. Hell, she was halfway to the moon over this hand hold they had going. So imagine her delight when, after he led her to the living room couch, he took her foot into one of his hands and begin to hit pressure points she didn't even know were KILLING until he began to rub over them. With his other hand he took consistent sips of probably the best tasting wine she's ever had—though, she thought, it could just be the company. He knew for a fact that it was the company because he picked the wine up at some run down shop a block away in a rush to get to Renee's apartment as soon as he could. Before he lost the determination and all. The further he got from Kim's hotel and her words of motivation, the more he doubted even going to see Renee at all.

Renee matched Jack's pace with regards to the drinking—although it was her idea to pour the second round. She couldn't remember who suggested the third round. Interspersed between the sips was a conversation so random and so easy. It felt like having a pen pal—someone with no real personal history that you can just lay it all out there for. It also felt like having that friend who can make you laugh both at the irony of tough situations and at the inherent humor of comical situations. His was mostly irony, but she saw him smile much more in the span of a few hours than she ever thought she would in his lifetime (however limited it may now be). She hadn't told him about Ben because she didn't want Jack to feel like she equated their sicknesses. She didn't want to automatically position herself as the caregiver in whatever relationship it was they were starting up here. The fact that Jack is sick is unavoidable, but at least for a little while she wants to escape the reality that she may end up helping another important man in her life die. She wants to be a woman in love with an amazing man, not a woman who has something to offer to a man who will soon be in need of a lot of care. Still, she knew she just wasn't going to be able to hold a whole lot back from Jack. So when Teri came up (well, she came up early on in the conversation—the basic this is who I am and this is why introductory segment; this time it was much more the this is who Teri was and why I loved her and why I miss her and what I've learned spiel), Renee prepared herself to let loose of the one story she likes to stay away from—with her parents, with Larry, with herself. Otherwise, she's an open book. Especially with strangers. She loves finding a way to relate and will use just about anything in her history to find a commonality within minutes of meeting someone. Here Jack was beginning to bring up the commonality they have in losing basically the closest person in their lives, though he was unaware she had an equivalent. Not a spousal loss, but a deep cutting loss all the same.

"We used to," he stopped to let out a little sigh of a laugh. A sort of drunk sigh of a laugh. He also sort of corrected himself "_She_ used to turn on music, especially if I came in really tense from work, and make me dance..." Jack was looking down at his glass. "Really it was more of like a hug going in a circle…. Like she was trying to disguise the hug to nurse my pride… I always thought it was funny because… I mean, who's dignity is better maintained by dancing than by giving a hug?" Teri knew Jack didn't want an overt show of affection straight out of a long night of work. She knew he didn't want to feel soft or admit that he just needed an embrace. So she created an environment that gave him no choice but to surrender. To let loose and to hold her. She also knew the right moments to do it and accepted the fact that sometimes he really did just need to go to bed.

Jack laughed again to himself, staying with the memory for just a minute longer. Renee didn't want to come on too strong or even come near a comparison with Teri, but she felt overwhelmed by how boldly the desire to have a few moments like that again was written all over his face. Also, this could be her out from discussing Ben. Despite Jack's openness, she just couldn't. Yet.

They were sitting there, still on the couch, when the iPod playlist started over. Same as it did when she answered the door at least two hours earlier, the Dancing in the Moonlight melody filled the room. She laughed a bit to herself and Jack looked up.

That attention gave her no choice, so she bounced up and took his hand. He laughed, too—a little nervously, like he felt bad for making her feel like she needed to do this. But he consented. The beat was fast and fun. He found moments to twirl her, and to her immense satisfaction, go into a dip. She didn't know people even really did that anymore. Apparently _they_ did. So they danced. Like that. For more than one song. And _that_ was something Jack could get used to again.


	5. Scars

11:36 p.m.

Somewhere between Dancing in the Moonlight and Jon McLaughlin's Human, they journeyed to her bedroom. And somewhere between the living room and her bed they started kissing. They had been laughing. Mainly because it felt so awkwardly cliché to be twirling around the living room. Who knew Jack Bauer was _this_ person? The funny part is that it felt cliché while they both knew they were the furthest thing from stereotypical. While they moved about jovially, there was a sincerity in each action. Each secure hold he had on her hip, every firm grasp of her hand as she spun out and back in. They laughed, but the room was running out of air. Not only was their breathing getting more tired, but they both felt how serious this attraction was becoming. Plus there was the wine factor. It was all enough to make her stop breathing. After a final spin she retracted and ended up snug against his chest. She still had her breath there. She lost it when he pulled his shoulders back, looked for and then met her gaze. The impact of her body against his stopped them cold in their tracks. Still. Just staring. At each other. And even though they both had a glossy look indicative of their collective sleep deprivation and alcohol consumption, there was a mutual understanding that this was okay. They were both drunk enough to restart up the kissing, but not too drunk that they would have to question the sincerity come morning.

So, yeah, that's where the kissing started. He kept one arm around her back. He used the hand that held Renee's tightly when she spun back into his embrace to push a piece of hair behind her ears. She had been looking down, but his touch brought her face up. So he kissed her. Her arms found their way around his back, with both of her hands resting up on his shoulder blades. Her back was facing the bedroom and it was Renee who began to pull the two of them in that direction. She stepped backwards up the couple of stairs that made her apartment unleveled. There was an almost trip that made them both smile into the kiss as they made their way to the middle of the room.

He suddenly pulled back, coughing deeply—an interruption that caught them both off guard. This wasn't a cold cough. He sounded like an asthmatic and had to physically bend forward, face parallel to the ground to get any relief. She responded quickly by making her way to the bathroom for a glass of water. When she returned, he gratefully accepted the cup and downed its contents. He set it down on a table at the foot of the bed and whispered a deep and exhausted "thank you."

"Sure." She responded just looking at him. Kind of at a loss about where to go from there. She really hoped this wasn't coming across as pity. Compassion, okay. But the last thing she wanted was to make him feel pitiful. So she reinstated the kiss. And put her hands on his back… underneath his shirt. Her hands were cold against his warm and worn skin. She immediately felt a scar and was glad to be reminded of Jack's wounds while they stood there, eyes closed, locked in a kiss. She kicked herself yesterday when she froze at the sight of the physical sacrifices Jack has made in the name of their country. He apologized then, like they were his fault. Like he should be ashamed of them. Now, as her hands glided over 1, 2, 3… 3 scars in just a few inches of his lower left back, she felt like she needed to make up for her stares. For the fact that she ever made _him_ feel guilty for being wounded. In more ways than one over the past couple of days, actually. They weren't something to apologize for, and they honestly didn't scare her. But upon seeing them for the first time, Renee stood majorly corrected on a whole new level. She was finding that Jack not only weighs the psychological consequences of his actions, he is also willing to sustain the physical consequences of everything he asked other men and women to do. And from the looks of it, he basically had suffered every possible wound. He was even willing, she found out that day, to take death. It was hard to read him as he sat in that dark room in the FBI building, but she could tell he had been struggling to come to terms with the diagnosis. It would have been easier to stand there and talk to him if her original assumptions about Jack had been true—that nothing really affected him anymore. But there he was, timid almost, putting on his best business face ("you can tell me Larry is moving on Starkwood"). There he sat affected. So was she.

But now they were here and for the moment he was okay. Both of his thumbs grazed her cheekline as she moved her hands to his torso and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He stopped and looked at her. Frozen for half a second (it felt like 15 minutes, mind you) until he took her hands, still grasping the shirt, and lifted them above his head. She reached out to his shoulders as he leaned back in to the kiss. Her hands moved down his bare arms until both were intertwined in his fingers. He walked forward, pushing her along with him, to the side of the bed and sat her down there. She scooted back to make room for him and felt his hand run the length of her side, over her hips and to her thigh. He moved back up the same path and repeated the movement, this time taking the top of her sweatpants with him. The look in her eyes when he pulled back gave him consent to proceed, so he delicately slid both legs of the pants down to her ankles and tossed the garment to the floor. He returned to the head of the bed where she pulled his neck to her lips. And they did that for a while.

Well until, as abruptly as before, he moved back and began coughing. She started to get up but he gestured with his hands and his expression for her to stay. Quickly grabbing the cup from the foot of the bed, he moved to the bathroom to grab another drink. She heard his gulps from the bed. When he returned, there was a consensus that _this_ needn't necessarily happen right now. Not that it couldn't or it shouldn't but it just wouldn't add to or take away from the attraction they currently felt. They could be perfectly content to lay there and fit. Both understood this without speaking a word. Jack pulled back the sheets as he got back into the bed and she joined him there, under the comforter, head on his chest. His feet found hers. She curled her toes around the bottom of his jeans while he put his right hand underneath her shirt on the small of her back. And they did that for a while.

Life was still and okay. There was not even a pressure to talk, really. After some time, though, he could sense her eyes wandering.

"What are you thinking?" he asked blatantly.

She looked up. "You want to know?"

He looked down, worried for a second that he should be nervous for her response. "Yeah," he said with that underlying "of course" tone.

She ran a finger over his right collarbone, then to his midsection, then up to the shoulder where her head rested. She lifted herself up and rolled onto her stomach, supporting her weight on her right elbow and resting her left hand on his abdomen. She looked contemplatively at his torso. As carefully and gently as she could, she let out a "Where did they come from?"

Renee hoped he knew that she genuinely wanted to know.

He wasn't expecting _that._


End file.
